The Untold Tale Part I: The Fellowship
by TheLadyAranel
Summary: Murron is thrown to Middle-Earth through her dreams and is caught up in the Fellowship. Once seeing what the ring is capable of she swears to protect Frodo from its evil but when the Fellowship breaks her faith is tested. Can her new found love save her or will hope die? Possible Aragorn/OC. will leave pairing up to readers. R&R. -TheLadyAranel
1. Preface

**A/N: Gonna give this story a go. Thinking about making it an Aragorn/Boromir Romance, but I'll let that be up to you guys on where the romance should stand. Reviews are welcome, and loved! :) Remember this is just a tester to see how well this goes. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song, or the Lord of the Rings in any way, shape or form. Counts for all chapters.**

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Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,  
Ash nazg thrakutulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,  
Seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,  
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,  
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne,  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.  
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,  
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

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**-Preface-**

The world around Murron grew dark and cold as the hand of death gripped her fallen body. In the shadow of the Mountain of Doom the cries of battle grew silent, faded like a memory of old to the eyes of the young girl. Never had reality seemed so existent; never had death felt so right. Her body ached with sweet pain, the warm crimson betrayal easing the icy pang of lifelessness. Around her the friends she came to love cried out in vengeance for their fallen comrade. If only she had the ability to calm their pain…for now, in the face of darkness, she felt none.

In her soul she knew the race of men had won; that her debt had been paid and Frodo would succeed.

Peace enraptured her limp limbs, giving feather like lightness to the armor weight.

Was this how Théoden-King had felt? Knowing that his debt to his people had been fulfilled on the battle field? Soon…soon Murron would know.

"_Murron…"_ A voice rang through the clashing of metal and the ringing of bows. _"Murron…"_

With tear stained eyes and choking throat the fallen turned her face up toward the heavens, to be met by the faces of few friends. Their voices were silent, though their lips moved and bodies shook with sadness. Even the Dwarf, whose red beard was being used to dap away at the tears, and there was the Elf with bright eyes and solemn tone. The two Halflings and men of both Gondor and Rohan surrounded Murron…was the battle over? She could not tell.

There in front of her, stooped down the ranger, taking hold her head to rest against his chest. Murron felt little put the pressure of his body against hers…the muffled sound of grief.

"_Murron…"_ Around her the figures disappeared to give way to her love, who bent down to take hold of her hand which was now bare and free of armor. She was dying now, taking her last breath…her last mortal voice to be heard by her friends…


	2. Waking up in Mr Bilbo's Garden

**A/N: First Chapter! Please Enjoy and tell me what you think! Murron's life is very vague, but I did that on purpose so don't feel cheated out when it comes to that. :)**

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Night fell over the small town in silence. Hues of lavender and ginger danced about the clouds giving way to indigo and silver. This was where the stars sparkled like dreams in a child's eyes. The weather was cool and the wind soft yet warm.

She sat out on the porch, overlooking the fields of corn in quiet contemplation. Everyday in the small town was the same. You get up, go to work in the fields or start up before sunrise milking the cattle. Then, you have to go out again near sundown and do the same thing all over again. It was a hard life, with little pay, but a good life. A life where you grow up learning your trade and the skills to survive if need be. There really was no room for complaint. The city did her no good. The city was a rat race of people who never take the time to look out on nature and thank God for what he made. Still, there was a yearning in her belly; a yearning for something new, anything new. But that feeling would die at the end of the day, put out like a candle's flame. The only evidence of its beauty being the small line of swirling smoke before it dissipates into the air. Like a dream.

Still, it was good to dream. And it was about that time of night that dreams should take her. So Murron called to her dog and opened the door to the small farmhouse. Inside, shadows danced across the wooden floors and against the flowered wallpaper which was yellow with age. In the small wooden kitchen window, moths danced against the soft golden hue of the light, to the sound of crickets in the distance. Beyond the window, darkness surrounded the world. There were no streetlights, no cars speeding down the road…just the sounds of the country…the sounds of earth.

Wasn't that the way life was meant to be? This way right here?

Blinking and drawing her tired eyes away from the kitchen window, she opened the door to her room and stepped inside. The small room was sad.

Against the north wall, side by side stood her desk, a dresser that belonged to her grandmother, and then her bed—which was a simple box-spring and mattress lying out on the floor.

Changing her clothes, Murron tied up her hair and slipped into the bed. Exhausted from the days work, she curled herself into a ball and shut her eyes, letting those dreams take her. She let them take her to a place far away, far away from the world she knew…how real it all felt.

* * *

When Murron woke, her eyes met the bright sun who smiled down on her warmed face. Sweet grass tickled her arms and legs and in that instant, the girl could not help but laugh hysterically. She gripped her sides and giggled until it hurt. The young woman thought she had slept walked out into her fields and found it quite funny that she spent half the night out in the grass. Murron didn't mind though. Not in the least. It was a comforting notion…and for an instant, she wasn't home. She was in her dreams. She was in a simple land, and in a simpler time.

How grand it felt.

But even so, a dream can't last forever and she stretched out her limbs before sitting up. Running her fingers through her hair she looked around her. There was a strong scent of well water and wet earth. In the distance the tiniest windmill Murron had ever seen, turned round and round against the easy breeze. Laughter and the sounds of a market over a cobbled bridge to the west could be faintly heard. Green as far as the eye could see…and small, little houses in the side of hills. Small houses with grand wooden doors and a bright brass knob right in the middle. Polished and pretty.

Wherever Murron may be, it certainly wasn't home.

Wondering if she should stand up, she picked at the grass. In all honesty, she wasn't exactly worried too badly about her situation. Wherever she was, it seemed quite pleasant. And now that she was able to look about, she noted that she was smack-dab in the middle of someone's garden. Murron would have noticed it sooner had it not been so small. That did not mean though, that it lacked in any way. The tomatoes were green, beans thick, and potatoes she could only guess were rich. It was a quant little garden, and all the same a bit queer…as if the size of it weren't enough to question, the tools used to tend it were half sized…very queer indeed.

Looking down at her feet, Murron wiggled her toes and took a deep breath. She should probably find someone and ask them where she was.

"Hey you! Jus' cause your big folk don't mean you have the right to trample through Mr. Bilbo's garden! The Gaffer will have your hide if he knows you been sleeping in 'ere."

Murron jumped at the sound of the new voice and turned slightly, squinting her eyes. "Who?"

The master of the voice stepped forward: A chubby little man with sandy hair and a cheery face. He held out a fat little hand to Murron, who took it gladly. "Why, Mister Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End. This is his garden, and The Ol' Gaffer, my father, is the caretaker of this 'ere garden. I don't think either would take too kindly to you making a mess of it."

Murron clicked her tongue and looked around, carefully taking in her environment. Bag-End? Mr. Bilbo Baggins? The Old Gaffer? "I didn't mean to ruin anyone's garden. I thought I had slept walked out into my fields…but I don't think I'm anywhere near that…I'm Murron by the way."

The little man smiled. "Samwise Gamgee. You can call me Sam." And that is when Sam picked up the little hoe and started work in the garden. "Where are you From Murron?"

Sighing, Murron brushed off her sweats. "Michigan. You?"

Sam shook his head in thought and leaned against his tool. "Never right heard of that place before, but I'm from right here where all Hobbits are from: The Shire."

"Well…do you know anyone who might have heard of it before? Anyone in the Shire maybe?"

The Halfling's eyes grew wide with amusement and again he shook his head. "Only one Hobbit I know of that ever left the Shire. We are simple folk, Miss Murron. We don't do anything unexpected or go off on crazy adventures. But if you want to know 'bout the lands leaving The Shire, best talk to Mr. Bilbo." He pointed to house right behind them. "He lives there…and err…do pardon his demeanor Miss Murron, he's been gettin' the good ol baggerin' from neighbors all day. And on all days too! It's Mr. Bilbo's birthday. 111th to be exact, pretty ripe number you ask me."

The fat Hobbit trailed on and on, and soon Murron found herself simply walking away from his talk. Had she stayed she may never get to talk to Bilbo; 111th birthdays usually mean you don't have many birthdays left.

Murron trekked the short little cobbled steps up to the front door of Bag-End. The great door was an emerald color; completely smooth and perfect save one tiny scratch at the top. For a moment, Murron stopped to ponder on how it got there and what a pity it was to have flawed it. A pity indeed. Shrugging it off the girl raised her hand to gently knock on the great door. There was no answer. She knocked again. "Mr. Bilbo? I would like to talk to you for a minute sir, if you have the time. I seem to be lost and I was told you are the only one here who knows where I might need to get too! Sir?"

From inside, she heard with her ear to the door, the pattering of busy feet and the clanking around of pots and pans. Then the noises got closer, and soon the door flew open and Murron almost fell inside.

"We don't want anymore—bless me! A lady! What is all of this? Come in come in! What can I do for you?" Bilbo opened the door wider and welcomed her into his Hobbit hole warmly with a bow.

Much to her surprise, the little Hobbit did not look 111 years old. And what was more: the little hole was very welcoming. Wood floors, large round rooms and a grand fireplace in the Hobbit's study were only part of the grand layout. The walls were wood as well, the smell of the place lingered between sweet candles, and spices. Among the papers scattered across Bilbo's study, lay books, trinkets, and maps. So many maps! Some seemed newer, while others old and yellow with age.

"I was wondering if you could help me find the road home…I woke up here in your…well I woke up right outside your door there. I know how that must sound…" Murron trailed off looking at a particular map lying out in the open; it caught her eye. Black ink showed only a portion of what the other maps had, and a mountain with a red dragon circled it. The sight drew her in like a moth to a flame and soon she became enwrap in it. Her fingertips lingered over the mountain, and then found their way to the boarder of Mirkwood. What was Mirkwood?

"Oh my dear, I see you have a fondness for maps as well? Well, indeed you have never seen _this _map before. I highly doubt you've even seen the Elves of Mirkwood. They imprisoned my friends you know, and I have to save them all…we ended up rolling down the river in barrels! If you can believe that…"

At that point it was made clear to Murron how much Hobbits loved to talk. Bilbo seemed to go on forever, his voice like a broken record in the background of her mind…and still her eyes drifted back to the dragon.

It was small, but somehow it called to her. All thoughts of home, of life on her farm and wanting to get back to it faded. She only desired to know about the dragon.

"Have you seen it?" Her voice commanded through the bantering of Bilbo.

The small Hobbit peered over her shoulder and a smile spread across his face. The twinkle in his eyes held so many secrets and to Murron they screamed: I know something you don't!

"Tell me my dear, have you ever been on an adventure?"

* * *

Bilbo Baggins, Son of Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took (As Murron came to know) was a most gracious host. Murron had felt honored to be sitting with such an accomplished Hobbit and to hear his tale of what he liked to call "There and Back Again".

After questioning about the dragon, Mr. Baggins had taken it upon himself to fix them both cakes and tea (Which never seemed to wane) and recalled his journey from his very own Hobbit Hole to the Lonely Mountain.

Murron all the while stared at a copy of the map, for Bilbo had many copies of this particular map, and listened intently to all the Hobbit had to tell.

From the encounter with the three Trolls, to the finding of Sting, the girl thought less and less about her home. Stories of friendships and deaths, and the title of Burglar had her so entranced that she had nearly forgotten why the story was being told. Nearly.

"And what of the Dragon?" She asked.

Again, Bilbo's eyes gleamed. "My dear, to see a dragon is a very chilling and magnificent thing. This particular dragon was named Smaug. He was right foul, and sunk of dragon…but the most handsome creature I have ever laid eyes upon. His teeth were the size of you, and the size of his wings could cause the sturdiest house to fall under the wind they created. From his mouth poured golden flame that could burn stone to ash. Smaug's scales—dragons scales—are stronger than Mithril. It was this dragon that I had to face alone…"

Just as the good part came into Bilbo's story, a great knock came to the door. Angered at the interruptions that had been happening all day, Bilbo stormed out to his study, leaving Murron to look at the map again.

Middle-Earth is what Bilbo called this place. Full of all the kinds of creatures Murron had heard about in fairytales. After both hearing Bilbo's account and seeing her fair share of Hobbits, she had really no choice but to believe it. She may never find her way home. In reality though, she wasn't upset as much as she'd thought she'd be. To the contrary, she wanted an adventure. The Elves Bilbo talked about seemed very intriguing, and the Wizard with his comings and goings…what was his name? Gandalf?

"GANDALF! It is so good to see you old friend! Come in, come in! I have another guest here; we were just talking about you!"

An old man, with a large pointy hat and grey beard stepped into the Hobbit Hole. He had a large nose, with great bushy eyebrows which stuck out from the rim of his hat. His overall appearance did not seem unkind, but there was an air about him…a very old and ancient air.

"It is good to see you Bilbo…why, you haven't aged a day…"

Bilbo patted his stomach with pride. "We Baggins—and I do NOT mean the Sackville-Baggins—have good genes by dear friend, not to mention long lived lives on my mothers side…why the Old Took himself—"

Gandalf raised his hand to silence the Hobbit. "I knew the Old Took Bilbo, no need for you to tell me. Now,"

Murron could not help but laugh at the Wizard. He seemed to know how much Hobbits love to chat away, and his halt had been humorous.

Gandalf peered over at the girl, leaning on his staff. He seemed to be sizing her up in a way, though it was not hard to meet his gaze. Murron felt no threat from him, and meant neither him nor Bilbo any in return. Gandalf seemed to pass the same judgment.

"Is this your other guest Bilbo? Introductions, please."

Bilbo pointed his finger and shook it by his head. "I knew I was forgetting something! Ah well, seems my age is finally getting to me. My dear Gandalf, this is Murron. Who already knows a great deal about you; thanks to my excellent storytelling, I might add!"

Bowing slightly Gandalf's eyes narrowed, taking her in once more before speaking. "I am Gandalf the Grey, at your service."

Murron's cheeks flushed at the greeting, but nodding her head slightly she returned the favor. "Murron, sir."

The Wizard's mouth twitched into a smile before turning his attention back to Bilbo. "You silly little man, show her a room! I trust you have many available, and I trust she needs a place to sleep. Go on, show her to a room…then we have much to discuss before your party. In private, that is." Ending on that note, Gandalf winked heartily at Murron who laughed again.

Bilbo hushed the old man and motioned for Murron to follow. She did, and thanked him for his hospitality but not before saying a short 'it was a pleasure to meet you' toward Gandalf.

Watching the two scatter down the hallway off into one of Bilbo's many rooms the Wizard took a seat at the kitchen table. He came to Bag-End with a purpose…but now the Old Wizard had much more to consider.

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**A/N: Its so hard to write Gandalf. Hopefully I didn't kill his character and make him too OOC.**


	3. Brandybucks, Tooks, and Fireworks

**A/N: I'm so happy to have followers on this story! And please feel free to give me your thoughts, good or bad regarding the story. You guys have no idea how happy I get when I see I have new reviews! Also know that I will take suggestions. (Just like the summary says, pairing will be up to you as well.) I know someone wanted a chapter with a little bit of Merry and Pippin so I provided it. I hope you enjoy! As for being a talented writer: Thank you so very much. That made my day, you have no idea. I'm glad this FF has already pulled you in, and I promise every chapter I will try my best to provide my best. You will note two things in this story I forgot to mention: 1) I will follow the movies for the most part, but tidbits from the books will surface. Nothing that will confuse you if you haven't read the books. 2) I may use lines similar to the movies' but not word for word. I feel that is overdone and it gets boring. Why read something you know by heart? Why read something that the author didn't write? Thats my opinion. Again, enjoy...and I promise to shorten the aurthor's notes from here on out. :) -Aranel**

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Murron gazed about her room lazily. It was comfortable, and not as small as one would think. Granted, the bed was Hobbit sized, but Murron herself was not so big in stature. She found it to her liking and if she had any items to put away she would have found that a closet and dresser were at her disposal.

Before Bilbo had left he had given her a copy of the map and many others, wishing her luck in finding her home. (For Bilbo had never heard of the land of Michigan.) But try as she might, Murron could not find anything close to it. She found herself in an altogether different world.

It had crossed her mind that she had gone mad…but in the light of it all, she really couldn't convince herself of that. Not when so much seemed to make sense. Hadn't people claimed to be abducted by aliens? Seen Bigfoot? Had their livestock sucked dry by the chupacabra? This seemed not only more pleasant than all of those…but more substantial. Another world, another time perhaps is where she was. And she would enjoy every minute of the time she had here with these pleasant people of the Shire.

Sighing heavily from boredom (She already poked her nose in all the corners of the space) Murron decided there had been enough time for Bilbo and Gandalf to discuss what was needed.

Sneaking out of the room and down the hall, she stopped short of the archway that separated the kitchen, where they sat, and the corner from where she stood. Faintly, she heard Gandalf speak.

"You still intend to leave Bag-End then?"

There was no pause in Bilbo's response. "Indeed I do. I've been meaning to get out of this place for quite sometime now. Everything will be left to Frodo mind you. I don't want Bag-End in the hands of those blasted Sackville-Baggins."

The Wizard chuckled. "No, of course not. What of your ring? I trust that will stay in the Shire with Frodo as well?"

Murron held her breath at the silence that followed the question. The entire hole grew silent, save the crackle of the fire. If the ring the Wizard asked of was the one and same ring Bilbo had won in the game he called 'Riddles in the Dark' then she highly doubted he would give it up. Mr. Bilbo spoke so highly of the little thing, praising it almost. Of course she had never seen this precious ring.

Just then, Bilbo spoke. "It's a trying thing Gandalf, old friend. It weighs on me, and I find it hard to put aside. The ring has been mine for so long now, but I do believe it should pass to Frodo."

She heard the Wizard move in his chair. "That does not answer my question: Will you leave the ring to Frodo? Keep it here in the Shire. Do trust me as you once did…old friend."

"Right," The Hobbit stamped his foot. "You have never led me astray before, the Ring will go to Frodo…though I must tell you, that even now I feel as though I am but butter, scraped over too much bread. After this little party, I do intend on taking a holiday. A holiday my dear Gandalf, from which I do NOT intend on returning. You will keep a close eye on Frodo though? Make sure he stays out of trouble! And for all that is good, do not send thirteen dwarves to his door and ask him to be a burglar!"

The last comment made them both chuckle and Gandalf then replied with seriousness. "I shall keep two eyes on your nephew, as often as I can spare them…though I have a great feeling inside me…oh it is nothing. If you don't mind, I would like to step outside and smoke a pipe."

Murron heard Gandalf rise from his chair and turn his attention to the hallway where she stood. From the corner, her eyes met his but he simply seemed to look over her. (For which she was grateful.)

Something inside of her however, told her that the Wizard knew she had been there, the entire time.

* * *

Bilbo had joined Gandalf and invited Murron to sit outside in his Garden while they smoke together. The fading sun brought with it a cool air that was typical for late September. Smells of foods and ale drifted to their nostrils as the band tuned their instruments and final decorations were being set up. Far off in the distance, the final guests were arriving by pony and relatives were barking 'Where is Bilbo? Have you seen Bilbo?' Never in all her days had Murron seen so many people at one party, which Gandalf had told her was 'A small birthday celebration for Hobbits'.

She had also learned that on a Hobbit's birthday, he gives away gifts, instead of receiving them; a notion that Murron didn't care for. It seemed to fit the silly folk though. It matched their cheery personas and hairy feet. Queer.

Murron watched in awe as Bilbo and Gandalf blew smoke rings. Bilbo started out with a small one, and Gandalf would create a larger one, and so on and so forth. When they could no longer blow smoke rings any larger than what they had, the Wizard took his pipe from his mouth, and blew out not a ring of smoke, but a ship that scaled its way to the heavens. Murron stared in complete awe as Bilbo grinned behind his pipe.

"Murron dear lass, this will be a night you shall never forget." And with that, Bilbo stood, stretched, and made his way down the hill to greet his guests.

That left Murron alone with the Wizard.

She had seen so much in such little time, and still her mind was only bent on knowing one thing. Still, she asked herself if she were bold enough to question Gandalf about it. She took a deep breath to ask, but then Gandalf spoke. "There are all sorts of magic in the world Murron. Some are good, others evil. It would be best to let your mind wander someplace else…think on one thing: You have not seen the ring, you have only heard tell. Yet, it consumes your thoughts. A young girl so far away from home should be thinking about family, and how to return to it all…not on some trinket."

She sat in silence. He knew; somehow he knew she would ask about the ring. How did he know? "What is the ring then? Bilbo's ring I mean."

Gandalf straightened up and furrowed his brow. "It is a ring of course. What else would it be? Now go Murron, I'm sure Bilbo will want to introduce you to his friends and nephew, after all: Frodo and him share a birthday and according to Bilbo you are his honored guest of the evening."

The girl thought it best not to pester the old man anymore with her thoughts on Bilbo's ring, and decided even if she did she would get nowhere with it. So obeying the Wizard she stood and dusted off her pants.

"I'll tell you one thing Gandalf; I woke up in this garden this morning thinking I walked out into my fields at night. I come to find out I'm nowhere near home and in the company of Hobbits and a world renowned Wizard…I would have to agree with Mr. Bilbo on one thing: this will be a night I will never forget."

* * *

Singing, dancing, gossip, it was all present at the party. Little Hobbits gathered about to hear all about Mr. Bilbo's adventures. While the adults sat back and argued with one another if letting their children hear about it would poison their heads. Murron came to the understanding that many of the Hobbits in the Shire disliked Bilbo, and spoke cruel things about him behind his back. None as cruel as the Sackville-Baggins, who were right mad upset about Bilbo passing on Bag-End to his nephew, Frodo. It seemed that upon Bilbo's death, or departure as it turned out, that they were to inherit Bag-End. Seeing as it was up to Bilbo, he had every arrangement made to see to it that Odo Sackville-Baggins and his wife would never get their pudgy little Hobbit fingers on it. And that sparked conflict among everyone.

It seemed that talk of hidden gold, dragons gold, was buried deep in the cellar of Bag-End, and it was right out queer that Bilbo should hand it over to Frodo. The young Hobbit's parents both died at a very young age, and still, he had more Took in him than anything else. 'Not a real Baggins' Odo had told Murron. Why should a Tookish boy, son of Drogo have all Bag-End to himself? Murron didn't care. She liked Frodo.

For one, he was a quiet Hobbit, and a handsome little thing. He knew how to make people laugh who didn't want to laugh in the first place. Second, he befriended some of the most unrespectable Hobbits the Shire had to offer. (Which Murron later learned was the Tooks, who had far too many adventures to be respectable Hobbits.) And thirdly, he told Murron all he knew about Bilbo's magic ring.

Apparently, from what the Hobbit could tell her, the ring when put on your finger turns you invisible. What was even more interesting was that Bilbo's secret ring was not so secret. Although the Hobbits had no idea on how Mr. Bilbo Baggins was able to disappear, they knew he could. Rumors and children's tales of Bilbo disappearing into the night to appear in the morning with sacks of gold could be heard from anywhere in the Shire. Absurd really, that they would all be obsessed with false gold rather than the fact that he actually had the ability to become invisible at will. Of course, no one had actually seen Bilbo use the ring, not even Frodo. But there were times when the old Baggins would find himself in a rather tight pinch and suddenly drift away from it like a ghost. Only to later return unharmed. Truly interesting.

After a long talk about Bilbo's false wealth and a ring of interest, Murron made rounds with Frodo and was introduced to almost every living soul at the party. Some where well enough to great her kindly, while others simply nodded and made comments about the big folk not being welcomed.

"Never mind them, Murron." Frodo would tell her. And in all honestly, she didn't.

It was too splendid a night for little things like that to bother her. Besides, a rude comment from a Hobbit is about as hurtful as stubbing your toe on a pillow.

Later on, Frodo had gathered his three closest friends to sit down and have a drink with Murron and himself. Introduction were simple, one because she already knew Sam. The second was because the other two hobbits didn't bother with titles or fancy naming. There was Merry, and there was Pippin. One a Brandybuck, the other a Took. Both of which were in one way shape or form related to Mister Frodo. Both of which were more interested in Murron, than their relative's birthday.

"And where are you from, Murron?" Merry asked draining a cup of ale.

Murron smiled and look down into her own cup. She never did like warm beer. "No place you would know, I'm afraid."

Pippin slammed his fourth finished dinner plate on the table and opened his arms wide with an impish grin. "Tell us anyway, we can pretend we know all about the wide world!"

Frodo grinned and nodded for Murron to tell them. He too was curious about the Big Folk and of the lands beyond the Shire…if they only knew.

"She's from some place called Michigan. Is that right Miss Murron?" Sam spoke up behind his glass.

Murron nodded and forced herself to drink down the last bit of the bitter, lukewarm ale.

Both Merry and Pippin laughed heartily at their new friend and the face she made. For once in a very long time, Murron was enjoying herself.

Soon after, Frodo joined in the dancing, and forced Sam into a cute little jig with a Hobbit girl. It was then; Merry and Pippin grabbed Murron and disappeared into the darkness.

She had no idea where they were taking her, but here and there faint lights from the festivities allowed her enough light to see that they were passing by all the merrymaking. Ducking under tables and tents they made no noise, and on more than one occasion, Murron lost sight and sound of both of them.

For being such fat little people, they made no noise when traveling.

Finally, they reached a small tent and crawled to the left, and under a cart only to show up on the other side of it. Merry winked at Pippin who made for the back end of the wagon.

"What are you doing?" Murron looked down at Merry. "What is _he_ doing?"

Merry grinned and took a big bite out of an apple. "_WE _Murron are going to give these Hobbits what they've been waiting for. And with the help of Gandalf's fireworks it will be spectacular."

Murron raised an eyebrow at Merry, while circling to the back end of the wagon where Pippin was trying to climb up into it. She gave him a boost and he dove into the firecrackers. The sight was comical as he rummaged through this and that, looking like he was trying to find something he lost.

"Get the big one Pippin! The biggest one you can find."

Pippin raised his head from inside the wagon and pulled out a large red firework.

"Yes!" Merry cried out.

Pippin hopped down from his spot and smirked up at Murron, motioning her to follow them into the tent.

Once inside, Merry cleared a spot for the firework to stand. Next, he handed Murron the matches to light it.

"Oh, no…no no no…You two came up with this little plan, you two can see it out. That's Gandalf's firework, and I'm not taking any part in this."

Pippin hushed her with his rolling eyes and took the matches from her hands. "Fine then, don't light it. I will. Ready Merry?"

"Ready Pip!"

Murron watched in half amusement as the little man lit the firework and smiled with triumph. "There!"

"Aren't you supposed to stick it in the ground?" Murron chimed in before laughing.

"You were supposed to stick it in the ground!" Merry yelled.

"It is in the ground!" Pippin stated panicky. "This was all your idea!"

Then in one gust of smoke and flame, the firework went off taking the tent with it. Both Hobbits were black with ash and powder staring up at the red swirl which ascended into the sky. Once at its peak, the flame grew wings and turned its path right straight for the main table where Bilbo sat. It was a dragon.

All the little Hobbits ran for their lives, pushing over one another and knocking down tables. Screams of panic rose up in roars of fear as they all ducked to evade the fake attacker. The dragon passed over their heads and across the small river to disappear in flashes of gold. Then finally bursts of swirling magic danced off the wings, and whirls and twirls of red and gold spun up toward the heavens in grand amounts. Quite a finale.

"You two are idiots." Murron coughed through smoke.

"That was good." Merry clapped his hands and looked at both his companions.

"Let's get another one!"

Murron laughed as the Wizard appeared before them, giving them a right lesson. She nodded to them both and gave Pip a wink when his eyes screamed 'help us'. Afterward she simply walked away, leaving the Wizard to handle them for crashing the best part of the night.

After the deal with the fireworks, Murron had found her way to Frodo's table and sat down just as everyone screamed for a speech from Bilbo. All eyes seemed to follow the 111 year old Hobbit as he climbed up on his stool. He seemed 111 then, Murron thought. And the fact that his hand was in his pocket rubbing at something within only made her recall what he had told Gandalf. _'Even now I feel as though I am but butter, scraped over too much bread.' _Remembering those words gave her little comfort, and for a moment she greatly feared for the Halfling.

His speech began with welcoming everyone to his party, and stating that many of them will be receiving their gifts shortly after. Bilbo had it clear that he was getting older and that Bag-End will soon go to Frodo, and after he told about his adventure with the dwarves. (Bilbo loved telling that story) Soon however, he realized how boring he was to the other Hobbits. They cared not for his stories or his adventure. They were only after the gold they thought he had; they were only here to gain his favor in hopes he would leave them something of value. Frodo seemed to see the same reaction in his uncle as Murron had to the other Hobbits, for he leaned forward and listened more carefully. Murron felt the urge to run to Bilbo, for what reason she couldn't say. She only felt as though something strange and unnatural was about to happen. Just then, Bilbo cleared his throat and stared directly at Frodo.

"This is the end, my friends. I am going away now. Good-bye." And Bilbo disappeared.


	4. Gandalf Seeks Answers

**A/N: Wow, been too long since I've updated this! I'm really hating these short chapters, but someone once told me it was better that way. What would you guys rather have? Let me know.**

**Answers to reviews!: Oh, I have my plans as to how Aragorn gets with Murron. *wink wink***

**Aragorn will be in the next chapter! Hopefully I didn't spoil too much. hehe.**

**My writing style! Believe it or not, the amazing author of these books had a HUGE influence on me, and since then I've adapted my writing style. I like to think I have my own twist, but the credit goes to that wonderful man who gave us such an amazing trilogy!**

**Again, review, and please let me know if I tend to make Murron a sue. I've taken all those stupid tests and what not and they all tell me she isn't, but I have a sue hunter following me and now I'm paranoid. Grand. Anywho, enjoy! -Aranel**

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"What in the name of…" Murron trailed off and in that instant looked toward Gandalf.

The Wizard himself seemed at a loss for words, and the expression on his old face was wrought with uneasiness. He looked over at Frodo and then at Murron and before either one of them could shout out to him, he too was gone.

All the Hobbits began to shout and holler. Mass confusion filled the space that was once merry and light. No one rightly knew what was happening, but it seemed that in the very moment Bilbo disappeared, all the assumptions of him became true.

"Where did he go?" Murron whispered to Frodo.

Without answering, the young Hobbit stood up and took Bilbo's place on the stool where he gave his speech. Clearing his throat, Frodo tucked his thumb into his belt loop and hollered out. "Admirable Hobbits please quiet down!"

Sam took Frodo's spot next to Murron and hushed those that sat around them.

"I would like to thank you all for attending this party! Please, eat and make merry! I will be taking over as host for the rest of the evening. All is well my dear Hobbits; all is well!"

Just when the crowd began to quiet down some, from the back Odo Sackville-Baggins stood up shaking with anger. "You sir, will not tell me what is well and what is not! Where did that scheming uncle of yours slip off too? Things are beginning to smell fishy young master Baggins! I for one would like an explanation!"

Murron had about enough of that old Hobbit for the night and turned around glaring. "Isn't it rude to come to a party and take your fill of ale and food, and then insult your host by calling him _scheming?" _

The Hobbits around them all turned to look at Murron, and her face flushed.

Odo took a step forward and returned the heated stare. "Why don't you go back to where you came from lass?" His words were laced with venom.

Unable to think how to respond properly, the events of the day took hold of Murron and sliced her better half in two. "Why don't you sit your fat ass down and shut it!"

That had done it.

She had caused the commotion to start up again, and comments flew left and right about Mr. Bilbo and the ordeal.

The Sackville-Baggins took their leave and spat every rude gesture of disgust at the girl before they left completely. Other Hobbits did the same, while some whispered this and that while pointing off into the distance at Bilbo's Hobbit hole.

"If I was ever welcomed here in the Shire Sam," Murron sighed putting her head in her hands. "I just became un-welcomed."

The fat little Hobbit patted her back, but gave no words of comfort. Instead, he stood up and stretched, taking a deep breath before walking over to Frodo.

So there she sat, alone.

The dwindling number of Hobbits made the atmosphere cold and around her body the night drew in closer. Off to her left and right there were Hobbits taking down banners, and blowing out candles, while some still stuffed their little faces with whatever food was left. In just a number of minutes a grand party turned into vacant tents and dirty dishes piled on top of 50 tables left for a poor soul to clean. Bilbo's party turned disaster…Bilbo…

Murron's mind drifted to the Hobbit. He disappeared. So Frodo's account of the ring had been true. But where was the Hobbit now? Did he return to Bag-End? Or did he leave the Shire the way he told Gandalf he would? Granted, she wasn't supposed to hear that bit, but if he did leave…would the ring go to Frodo as promised?

She couldn't fake honesty and say she agreed with Gandalf on giving the ring to Frodo yet she obviously couldn't give her opinion on the matter. Murron had been eavesdropping on a conversation that wasn't meant for her ears. And that put her in a very sticky situation.

In a way, perhaps, it should go to Frodo. After all, Bilbo adopted him when his parents died, and in a way Bilbo had been Frodo's father. A father passes on his legacy to his children, and in a way the ring was Bilbo's legacy.

Yet…Murron didn't like the thought of the ring going to Frodo. A jealousy formed in the pit of her stomach, one she couldn't rightly explain. There was also fear there…fear that the ring would not be a good thing in anyone's hands. And then the fear was again replaced by jealousy. Bilbo was gone now; she was almost sure of it. Which meant the ring would be inside, ready for anyone to take.

She could have it. Yes, then she would have this ring. All she would have to do is go inside and look around…

"Murron! There you are! Was that you who stood up to old Odo was it? Merry said it was probably—"

Murron snapped out of her deep thoughts and absently turned to Pippin. "Yea. It was me. Pippin, can you do me a favor? Tell Frodo I'm going back up to his uncles…I'm going to see if Bilbo is there. Tell Frodo to meet me when he is done with the guests. Alright?"

Pippin nodded once and placed his thumbs in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking like he wanted to say something.

Murron waited. "What?"

Pip grinned and reached into his shirt, pulling out a daisy. "Here! I picked this for you. As a…present I suppose…for you…and I picked it…as a present…and…its for you." He handed it over to the girl who laughed. "Thanks Pippin, it's beautiful."

Standing up from her chair, Murron bent over and kissed Pippin's cheek before tucking the flower in her hair and trudging up the hill.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merry saw Pippin's smug grin. Walking over to his friend, the Brandybuck shook his head and smacked his friend's. "What was that for? Playing it up Pip?"

Pippin grimaced and rubbed his head gingerly. "I dunno Merry…I think she likes me."

"Oh aye Pip! And the Ol Gaffer isn't gonna be after you for picking at his flowers…c'mon then…we have dishes we need to finish washing."

* * *

Murron stood in front of the green door, debating on whether to knock or just go inside. She studied the door again, taking in every detail and again stopped at the one flaw at the top. It was put there by Gandalf. She knew that now. 'Burglar for hire' it meant. That was how the dwarves knew where to go, at which Hobbit hole they would find Bilbo. Murron's eyes stung a little, remembering how Bilbo laughed when he told her about the dwarves…how they fell on top of one another when he opened the door to greet them. Much in the same way Murron herself almost had. Never in all her days had Murron met someone who she had grown so fond of in one day. If Bilbo was truly gone, she would miss him greatly.

She then decided against knocking and opened the door slightly, and seeing that there was light from the fire, opened it further. Taking one step inside the familiar home, the girl fell short and gasped. There, lying on the wooden floor, catching the light of the fire so splendidly, was a golden ring.

No one need tell her whose ring it was, or where it came from. Murron knew. It gleamed without a single flaw, singing out to her. It pulled her closer to it, until she was on her knees staring down at the trinket, circling it with her forefinger. The ring called to her, whispering her name and all the promises of fortune beyond imagine. She need but pluck it from the floor and place it in her pocket, and all the power of the Middle-Earth would be hers. This is what the ring had told her. Now, reaching out Murron let her fingertips touch the metal thing, which was warm. And in the light it shrunk to the size of her hand, another trick of devilry. Oh how it wished to be hers, and Murron would not lie: she longed for it too. It was such a perfect little thing…a lovely little thing…a _precious_ little thing.

"Do you desire it so much already?" The voice of Gandalf shook Murron where she was kneeling, and caused her to fall on her butt.

"Wh—what?"

The Wizard's face showed no emotion, and behind his hat his eyes caught the ring and he shook. "Do you desire it so much, that you would risk everything, and yet nothing, just to have it?"

Murron furrowed her brow and stood up, reluctant to leave the ring where it lay. She took the seat across from Gandalf, only to glance back at it. "It spoke to me Gandalf. Do rings in Middle-Earth speak to people? Or am I mad?"

Gandalf leaned forward and motioned for Murron to come closer. She did, and Gandalf took hold of her chin, burning his eyes into hers. Terror filled Murron, and for a moment she debated on whether to pull away from him, but she did not. Instead, she stared back, and pressed her will on his. The old man laughed.

"You are not mad, but you are not resistant to its will. So I ask again Murron, do you so desire it?"

Murron looked down and took a deep breathe. "No. I don't want it."

Gandalf released his grip and put his pipe back in his mouth. "That is a lie if I've ever heard one, but an honest lie if I've ever heard one! It seems that you will have a part to play in this before it is all over."

Murron's eyes shot up at the Wizard's words. "Before what is over Gandalf? Why am I here? Will I ever get back home?"

The old man's eyes filled with sympathy for the girl's fears, and softly he patted her hand. "We all must take a journey in life Murron. I do not know where you come from, and I doubt you will ever return. But evil does not wake up in a Hobbit's garden, so take heart!"

"Bilbo! Bilbo?" Frodo stormed through the open door and stopped short of the ring. "Bilbo's ring. So he left then? He's…gone."

Gandalf smiled and motioned for Frodo to come closer. "Yes, your dear uncle has left. And in his absence, he has left you Bag-End, and all of its possessions. Including, his ring!" The Wizard held out an envelope and Frodo dropped it inside. In a flash, yet carefully so not to touch the ring, Gandalf sealed it in red wax and handed it back to Frodo.

"I am afraid I must leave on this night my dear boy. But here you have Murron to keep you company. I don't suspect she will be leaving anytime soon."

Both Frodo and Murron shouted in defiance.

Frodo followed Gandalf to the door and pleaded with him. "But Gandalf, you've only just arrived! I thought you would be staying in Bag-End for a time! When will I see you again? Where are you going?"

Turning to face the small Hobbit, the Wizard knelt. "It is unexpected my dear Frodo. I seek answers, none that may concern you yet! Look for me when you least expect me, and I shall return for ill or good…I do not know which yet. Keep the ring safe Frodo, and keep it hidden. Many will try to get answers for Bilbo's vanishing, but do not give anything away! Good-bye now." And Gandalf left.

* * *

Scratching his head Frodo sighed and turned toward Murron with open arms. "I suppose it is just you and me then. Did he happen to mention where he was going?"

Murron shook her head and stood up. "Didn't mention anything about it…well, goodnight Frodo, and happy birthday…and I'm sorry about Odo."

Frodo shook his head and sat down in Bilbo's old chair. "A happy birthday indeed…you needn't worry about the Sackville-Baggins. Goodnight Murron."

Years had passed before Murron or Frodo had seen Gandalf again. And each year Frodo would hold a birthday party in honor of Bilbo. (Which many Hobbits found to be odd and did well in voicing their thoughts. But Frodo simply stated he knew Bilbo was alive somewhere and it would be fond to remember him in such a way.)

And each year Murron would help. It kept her mind busy and away from the thoughts that bothered her. Thoughts of home, thoughts of Bilbo, and Gandalf plagued her night and day. She would hear tell of strange things happening outside the borders of the Shire, and the Elves traveling the woods nearby.

Murron promised herself she would see the Elves travel the old paths in the Shire one day that was until Sam told her they were going to the Docks to sail to the undying lands never to return…well, Murron didn't want to see them then. Too many beautiful things were leaving Middle-Earth, and even in this world, a world a magic, the magic was dying. It was harder to live that way, knowing the world around you was changing, but you never see it, hidden in your Hobbit hole.

Why, just last week Sam had told her his cousin saw a tree out past the banks of Buckland, _walking_! Sam seemed so convinced that he nearly shouted at Merry for his disbelief before being laughed out of the Green Dragon all together.

'I believe you Sam.' she told him. And she did. As well hidden as the Shire might have been, that didn't mean strange thing couldn't linger here and there.

All of that aside, as Gandalf promised, he appeared when they least expected it.

It was well into the month of September, and Frodo had been out in the garden smoking. Murron was baking bread for second breakfast when she heard Frodo shout out the Wizard's name. Dropping everything in hand, Murron rushed out to meet him and both Frodo and she welcomed him inside.

"You're back! Oh Gandalf, do tell me you are here to stay for awhile! Murron was just preparing second breakfast!"

Gandalf chuckled and motioned to the girl. "It is apparent you were left in the company of Hobbits my dear girl! You have had your fair share of second breakfasts!"

Murron flushed a tomato color and slowly wrapped her hands around her stomach. She had gained some weight during her stay with Frodo, but she hadn't thought herself to be unsightly. Perhaps Gandalf was only teasing?

"Did you get the answers you were looking for?" Murron questioned curtly.

Gandalf picked up on the tone and bid Frodo to shut the curtains. Next, he took a sit and called both Murron and Frodo to the table. "Did you keep the ring safe Frodo? Did you keep it secret?"

Murron nodded before Frodo could answer, and the Hobbit simply brought forth a chain he kept in his pocket, and attached to it was the ring.

"Excellent…now Frodo, cast it into the fire!"


	5. The One Ring

**A/N: Oh my gosh you guys. I'm so sorry I haven't updated this story in so long. My computer crashed and I lost Word. Haha xD I got it back though, and soon after I got a new job. That has kept me pretty busy I'm afraid. BUT take heart! I'm back and so ready to keep this story going. A chapter should be out by tmrw as well. I know I promised Aragorn in this chapter, and he is mentioned! Forgive me for making it so boring and crammed with dialogue. It seems it had to be done. Reviews are lovely, and yes, feel free to yell at me for being gone for so long. Again, I'm very sorry. Please enjoy. I promise the next chapter to be more...well...interesting, for lack of a better word. I love you guys. -Aranel**

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Murron stared at Frodo wide eyed as the small Hobbit fumbled with the Ring. He ran his fingers over and over the golden band, whispering to it with his eyes. Its hold had already grasped his heart and Murron found herself spiked with jealousy and contempt every time he molested it. It should be hers…

"Frodo, the Ring! Cast it into the flames." Gandalf commanded.

The Halfling lowered his eyes and spoke so quietly, Murron wasn't sure he had said anything at all. "I…" The rest of his words were inaudible.

Murron held her breath as Frodo removed the Ring from its chain. With one fluid motion the Hobbit flicked the band into the flames, which roared unnaturally and lapped up the trinket.

The gold of the band drank the deep orange and red of the fire which danced brilliantly, casting shadows against the faces of the onlookers. For a moment, the outside world no longer existed. Their entire universe revolved around the fire…the ring…the look in Gandalf's eyes as he pried it from the hearth.

His face was unreadable. He extended the ring to Frodo. "Take hold of it; it is quite cool I assure you."

Frodo's expression was one of confusion, but he did as he was told and took hold the ring once more, holding it close. He said nothing.

"What do you see? Are there any markings? Anything at all that bare eye can tell?"

Murron's skin grew cold as Gandalf spoke. There was a tone of anxiousness in his deep and even voice. She turned to Frodo.

The Hobbit studied his prize, entrapped by its will. He furrowed his brow and shook his head, without speaking, and the Wizard sighed with what Murron saw as relief.

"Wait…"

The word spoken struck their ears like death cry. Gandalf's expression was enough for Murron to know that something was amiss, and in truth she did not wish to know what it was. Darkness filled the small space as the elderly man ran a wrinkled hand through his beard.

"Markings Gandalf…I cannot read them though." Frodo set the Ring down on the table and took a step back for them to have a better look.

Elegant and terrifying. Those were the two words that instantly came to Murron's mind. The long lavish script was something of utmost beauty yet unreadable, they still struck her with a terrible dread deep in her bones. It ached and burned, and for a moment she thought she may cry.

"Then it is as I feared. It is an ancient language; in that of the black speech of Mordor, which I will not utter here. This is the one Ring, Frodo…and it cannot stay here."

Both Frodo and Murron looked to Gandalf with frightened and curious eyes. It was enough to have them shaking in their boots. (An obvious play of speech, seeing as Hobbits do no wear boots)

"What exactly does that _mean, _Gandalf?" Murron questioned, leaning forward to stare at the markings. They had already begun to fade.

Gandalf placed his hat on the table and stared gravely into the girl's face. "This is the _ONE RING_. Forged by the Dark Lord, and crafted in the heart his domain."

Murron stared deep into the fire as Gandalf spoke. "The Dark Lord…the One Ring…I'm not familiar with it Gandalf."

The Wizard shared a glance with Frodo and pointed down at the ring. For a long time he said nothing. Simply staring at the band and back to Frodo, it startled both the Hobbit and the girl when the old man finally spoke.

"Those who come to have the Ring feel as though they are meant to have it…and will justify it in any way they can. Gollum said it was a gift. A rather ironic lie of sorts…just as Bilbo told you Murron, that he _won it_."

Murron's eyes shot up from the fire and glared heatedly. "Do you mean to say Bilbo is a liar then?" She did not take kindly to ill talk of Bilbo; there was already so much of it centered in town and on the distant relations of the Baggins'.

Gandalf raised a brow at the girl. "Do not be so quick with your tongue when you may see clearly I was not finished. Bilbo is a dear friend, and it would do you well to know my best interest is always at heart where our dear Mister Baggins is concerned."

Flushing with embarrassment, Murron silently mouthed an apology, and Gandalf continued.

"The Ring has a will of its own…and he is seeking it."

Frodo shook his head in confusion. "Who is seeking it?"

The Wizard looked over to the window and all around his person before looking grimly back into the flames. "Sauron: The Dark Lord."

That name sparked a chill deep in Murron's heart. When Gandalf whispered his name the Ring seemed to shimmer with a malicious pride and thousands of screams echoed long after it was spoken.

The girl shook her head as so many questions plagued her mind. Too many questions to ask the old man at one sitting; some were questions she knew he wouldn't answer. It was a tricky business asking Gandalf inquiries. The Wizard seemed to know the answers to them all, but he also seemed to know the extent of your own knowledge…and if you could handle the divine truth of it all.

Murron picked at the bread crumbs that were about the kitchen cutting table. Looking down at her hands, chapped and thin, she realized this was all she knew now: This little Hobbit Hole, The Halflings, the Shire, Gandalf, and Frodo. In a sense it had always been her home. She hadn't seen earth, or Michigan or her family in years…had it been years?

No. She would not think about home. Not now; too many important matters to consider now. A Dark Lord, a One Ring…whatever that meant. Gandalf really wasn't clear on whom this Lord of Darkness was, nor what was so important about this little golden ring. She decided to question the latter. It seemed like a topic both Murron and Frodo could handle. After all, the Ring had been with them all this time now. They had to right know what they had been sheltering from the Shire; from the world.

"What is so special about this ring? Why does he need it?" She paused, flicking a piece of stale bread into the fire. "Why do we have to keep it hidden?"

Gandalf smiled. It was a weak smile, but a smile none the less. His eyes sank in merrily behind his bushy eyebrows and the corners of his mouth tugged at the ends of his beard. Murron loved that smile. She knew it meant he was exceptionally proud of the choice of words used; exceptionally proud of the wisdom you carried, but rarely showed.

"My dear girl," He began. "I see the wheels and cogs in your brain churning rapidly, but we must be quick. I'm sure in time you will learn the answers to all you seek. It is not by chance you have come to us during this time of war."

Frodo nearly fell out of his chair. "War?!" He shrieked. "Gandalf how dreadful!"

Both Gandalf and Murron paused for a moment before continuing their conversation, leaving the young Master Baggins to recover from the Wizard's play of speech.

"I suppose the best place is to start at the beginning…the beginning that is, that you both know. _Riddles in the Dark._"

Gandalf poked the flames and wrapped his arms around himself, studying deep in thought.

"Bilbo had met the creature Gollum deep in the Misty Mountains over 60 years ago. Rank and vile was this creature that Bilbo was for the most part, scared for his very life. What made such a monstrosity? Time would tell us.

It was in the darkness of this Gollum's cave that Bilbo played a game of riddles to save his life! Over the course of hours, this riddle and that riddle had been played. Back and forth as it was, _until_ our Gollum spoke of one riddle that Bilbo did not know of."

"The Ring." Frodo whispered into his tea cup.

Gandalf nodded once. "It was the Ring Gollum spoke of. A birthday present he called it. A rather wicked lie when you know the truth of it all. Which I indeed found the truth with the help of a colleague: A Ranger of the North that is.

It was terribly hard to find the creature Gollum. I myself could not take up such a task, with my studies preoccupying me. There was no other choice than to contact Aragorn, the Ranger I spoke of. He is the best huntsman and tracker of this age, and _it_ took _him_ a full year to locate Gollum."

Murron nodded. "One of the years you were preoccupied I take?"

Gandalf nodded. "Indeed…so when Aragorn finally found the wretched, he called to me and I flew with speed to them. I interrogated the little squirm, which was much harder than need be I'm afraid. Having to pick through every lie he spoke, gleaming at one grain of truth the poor thing spat out. In the end it was only proof as to the kind of power the Ring can force onto a living being.

The creature had extraordinary resilience to its power. He still knew how he came about it to be wrong, and he still feared and hated the Ring with all his might. Though that isn't to say he didn't love it…it is precious to him.

You see, Gollum was not so different than a Hobbit. He was of the river folk, and carried about in many of the activities Hobbits do. Then, out fishing one day with a friend they came across a shiny little thing. 'What is it my luv?' our Gollum had asked. 'A ring.' Replied the friend. So it was they fought back and forth as to whom it should belong. And this is where I had to pick out lie from truth.

Gollum had claimed it was a birthday present, and it was in fact his birthday when his friend had found the ring lying at the bottom of the lake. Already consumed by its power Gollum then murdered his friend in order to obtain it. Thus calling it: his birthday present."

Murron looked down at the ring and felt tears in her eyes and a burning in her nose. Murder? Murder over a ring? How could someone do such a terrible thing? What was worse…how many times had she thought of doing the same thing? No…no…she could never kill Frodo. Could she?

"Murron my dear? Is something wrong?" Gandalf leaned into the table to catch her eye.

"N-no. I'm alright. It's just so…so sad."

The Wizard raised his brow and nodded silently. He rested himself against his chair once more and took a deep breath, indicating he would continue. "The Ring caused Gollum to commit murder just as it had done so too many before him. The will of the Ring, becomes the will of its owner. Gollum will never recover from it. Though I do have my hopes for Bilbo. He only carried the ring for a short while, and it passed to you Frodo before any harm could be done."

There was another short pause.

"The Ring is that of the Dark Lord. There is no doubt. He had crafted it in the heart of the Black Land, and crafted along with it all the other rings. Three to the Elven Kings under the sky, one of which I myself carry. Seven, to the Dwarf Lords in their halls of Stone, all missing or in a Dragon's horde. Then…nine. Nine were given to the race of men. And it is those nine my dear friends, you must be so wary of."

"And the one?" Frodo meekly spoke.

"And the ONE." Gandalf nodded. "All of his cruelty, malice, and hatred poured into one simple golden band. It cannot stay in the Shire Frodo. It must make its way to Rivendell. There it will be safe. No evil may linger in the last homely house."

Frodo then realized what was being asked. Though Gandalf never truly came forth with it, Frodo knew. He knew the Wizard was asking him to take the Ring. To take the Ring to Rivendell. How far was it? How could he ever do it?

Murron saw the pain in Frodo's face. She felt his burden and it brought tears to her eyes. Glancing over at Gandalf she noticed the Wizard was waiting for a reply.

Something inside of the young girl woke. It burned with courage and fearlessness. She would help Frodo endure the burden. She would aid him in any way she could.

"I will help you Frodo. We will go, Gandalf. We will take the Ring to Rivendell. We will share the burden of the Ring. I…Frodo, I will stand by you."

Frodo smiled weakly at Murron, and Gandalf seemed to be pleased with the outcome. For such dark talk, it was nice to end the conversation on a higher note. No one on this journey would face the darkness alone. Murron would lay her life down for the small Hobbit. Darkness would not consume his heart as long as Gandalf and herself were there to protect him.


	6. Rider in Black and A Man Called Strider

**A/N: WooHoo! Alright here it is. Enjoy, and please review! Thanks so much for all the favs/follows. Makes my day. -Aranel**

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And so it was decided that Murron and Frodo would leave for Rivendell, accompanied by Samwise and Pippin after the annual birthday celebration. Much planning had been done to conceal their true intent and Bag-End had been turned over to the Sackville-Baggins.

Murron wasn't fond of selling the old Hobbit Hole. The same Hobbit Hole that had been in Frodo's family for generations; ever since the Old Took built it for Belladonna and her husband. But in the end she saw it fit to their parting ways, in a bittersweet irony. For Odo Sackville-Baggins had died shortly beforehand, and his wife and son had suffered a great deal. Still, when the time came time for Mrs. Odo Sackville to take house, she had pestered Frodo for the keys, master and spare, and then went about making sure everything was in order. As if Bilbo's lifelong possessions had always been hers by divine right. Had it not been for Frodo and the hardship he was facing, Murron would have had a few comments right then, but kept her composure.

Their incognito was simple: Frodo would be leaving to travel to Buckland, and then would take up a home near the Brandybucks' to spend time with his cousin Merry. Where Murron fit in was a wonderful little prank played by Gandalf, who stated to all those who ask: Why, Frodo is taking himself a wife perhaps…he has grown so fond of Murron. Both Frodo and Murron laughed at this.

The night of their departure was melancholy. Birds were softly singing, readying for sleep and the little windmill Murron remembered seeing when she first arrived, barley turned. She was leaving home now. A home that took so long to fit into, adjusting to the lifestyle of the Hobbits while trying to grasp the reality of it all. Some days, Murron still felt that she was in a dream. Some days it just didn't seem real. The beauty that lay around her and the cheery faces gave the impression of water…that if she were to really go out into this Middle Earth, it would ripple away and she would wake up in her small farm house and back to the life of poverty and hardship. Though what she was facing now wasn't particularly the life of riches and lenience. It would be a hard road to Rivendell that much she knew and Gandalf only reassured this.

It had been two weeks after their long talk over the Ring, and this time it had been just Gandalf and her sitting outside. They discussed what was to happen, and it was encouraged that she should pester Frodo about leaving sometime soon.

"You should leave now, and waste no time." The Wizard had told her.

Murron had no rebuttal. She knew Gandalf was right. "What path should we take? I've never left the Shire…I don't know where to lead them."

Gandalf chuckled. "My dear Murron, Frodo has never left the Shire. Nor has Sam, or Pippin. Make your way to Bree. That is far as you need go alone, I shall meet you there. Pippin knows the roads from the Brandywine to the Prancing Pony Inn. That is your destination."…

So that is where they were headed this night. Taking the roads less traveled, but not completely concealed from the folk of the Shire. Frodo had made it clear they should leave with some eyes upon them, just to ensure that talk wouldn't spark flames. His party agreed.

The air was chilly, common for September. And yet it was still. No wind blew against the trees and the sounds of the rivers were quiet and calm. The stillness of it all was enough to spark uneasiness among them and cause unnecessary whistling from Pippin. He carried on like that for quite some time, whistling this tune and that…of far off places and daring adventures. Although, old Hobbit songs of drinking and merrymaking were the majority of the melodies he sang. Unknown to Pippin, his sweet voice calmed the roaring sea of dread in his companions, and they found courage in him. Pippin seemed so carefree. He even spoke openly and none to quiet, as if the darkness didn't weigh him down.

"I'm tired of singing. Murron! Come now; sing us a song from your homeland. Michigan! You hardly speak of it. I'm beginning to think that was a clever story you conjured up!"

The girl pulled her cloak closer to her face to block out the bitter stillness of the chilly atmosphere. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and she wrapped her arm around Pip's shoulder. "I'm afraid I can only think of one Pip, and it wouldn't brighten the mood any."

Both Sam and Frodo then encouraged her to go on with the song. They were all a bit curious about the land she came from, and it was then she realized that in their good nature, never once did they ask her about her home. (Save the night of Bilbo's party) Her friends were kind enough to see that speaking of it brought her sadness.

Tonight, however was different. They were all leaving home, and when leaving one's home, it is best to remember it in song.

Murron cleared her throat and turned back to look at the Shire one last time. It was nothing but a speck behind them now. Its rolling hills and streams like a painting from a story book…her memories of home were the same.

She turned back around to face her companions, and took a breath and began to sing…

_The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down  
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'  
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead  
When the skies of November turn gloomy  
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more  
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.  
That good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed  
When the gales of November came early._

…

_The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound  
And a wave broke over the railing  
And every man knew, as the captain did too,  
T'was the witch of November come stealin'.  
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait  
When the Gales of November came slashin'.  
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain  
In the face of a hurricane west wind._

…

_Does any one know where the love of God goes  
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?  
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay  
If they'd put fifteen more miles behind her.  
They might have split up or they might have capsized;  
May have broke deep and took water.  
And all that remains is the faces and the names  
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters._

…

_Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings  
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion.  
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;  
The islands and bays are for sportsmen.  
And farther below Lake Ontario  
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her,  
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know  
With the Gales of November remembered._

…

_In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,  
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral.  
The church bell chimed till it rang twenty-nine times  
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.  
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down  
Of the big lake they call 'Gitche Gumee'.  
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead  
When the gales of November come early!_

Silence followed the somber singing, and after a spell Pippin was the first to speak. "I'm hungry."

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned against a tree trunk, rubbing his feet. "Mr. Frodo, I think we need a break. We've put a good 10 miles behind us. We've been walking all night!"

Frodo turned to Murron who stared down the road ahead of them. It was then they all began to look and Frodo's face grimaced.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"I think we should get off the road. I think someone is coming, and I'd rather not be seen by folks outside the Shire. I don't think it wise."

Pippin stood on his tiptoes and titled his head to see better down the trail in the darkness. "What if it's Gandalf?"

"Then we will jump out and surprise him. I just think we should get out of sight. Hurry now! Look, go into those bushes there! All of you! NOW!" Frodo began to panic.

Murron grabbed Sam by his shirt collar and motioned for Pippin to follow. They all ran behind the thicket of brush and knelt down. For a moment Frodo lingered behind and in an instant they all saw that he had dived behind a tree.

The three hiding in the brush turned around and put the road to their backs, huddling close together. The wind that had been still all night begun to pick up and Murron held onto her bare feet trying to give them warmth. She closed her eyes and leaned against Pippin. Murron dare not open them for a fear of coming face to face with whatever was out on that road.

Sam pulled his cloak over his body and crouched down into a huddle, shivering.

Pippin pulled Murron closer and held his breath.

Just then, the sound of hooves against dirt came from the north and the world around them grew darker and colder than any natural force could bring. Somewhere on the wind whispers of an evil grew thick and hissed out _The Ring, The Ring!_ Murron then feared for Frodo.

Was he still behind the tree? Oh how she prayed to God he had lingered there; hidden deep within the truck in the roots. She prayed to whatever force ruled over this Middle Earth that the Hobbit was well out of view and the rider—or whatever was out there—wouldn't be able to find him.

Silence followed. Not a one of them dare move or even breathe. There was the sound of dismounting…a haggard breath, and then sniffing.

_Sniff…Sniff…Sniffffffff…_

A moaning followed. A horrid bay, and then as soon as it had all occurred, whatever it was remounted and bolted for the Shire.

Murron didn't know how long the three of them sat there holding on to one another. She didn't rightly care. At that point in the night she had become so numb on the outside she never reopened her eyes. It was as if that being one the other side of the bushes was looking for someone…something…smelling them out; a hunter tracking its prey. The voice inside of her tugged at the notion that seemed the most obvious: The Ring. Had there been any doubt of the evil forces Gandalf warned them of, there was none now. Murron would never doubt the Wizard again.

"Miss Murron, come on now. Whatever it was is gone now." Sam pulled her to her feet.

"What was it? Frodo! Frodo, did you see it?" Pippin dusted off his trousers and waved over Frodo.

The Ring Bearer gazed over at Murron, and she studied his face. To her surprise he didn't look at all shook up from the encounter. "Frodo…" She whispered.

"It was a rider. A man…cloaked in black…he staggered as he walked. Almost as though he had a limp, and he crouched very low to the ground; smelling for something." He placed his hand in his pocket and Murron knew he was holding onto the Ring. They _both knew_ exactly what the rider in black was looking for.

"Riders in black, a cold wind picks up…I say it's time we call it a night!" Pippin exclaimed.

Frodo, Murron, and Sam all turned to Pippin and in unison stated. "No."

Pip then went on about how 3 to 1 wasn't a very fair vote, but no one cared enough to respond. They were all high now on an adrenaline rush and resting for the night was simply out of the question. They still needed to get to Merry and from there they would leave behind Frodo's cousins and carry on with the three.

Same suggested they cut through the mushroom fields and then make their way down to the faire. All agreed that would be best to ensure they wouldn't run into anymore black riders. So they marched up the thicket and into the fields and carried on walking for a few miles. The talk had died down and the only sound they could hear now were those made by the crickets and frogs. Of course Pip made it clear on more than one occasion that he was very tired and very hungry. Then when they reached an opening of mushrooms, the conversation picked back up.

Pippin told Murron about when Merry, Frodo, and he were young and how they would take crops from the farmer's garden. Frodo then added how Pippin forgot to mention how they would get a good swat when caught.

"I don't recall." Pippin smiled playfully.

And so they carried on.

They had nearly reached the end of the fields when a rustling startled Sam. The three huddled closely once again, but this time there was no place to hide. Out in the open exposed to whatever lay on the other end of the crops and at its mercy; they all silently prayed it wasn't a black rider.

The air grew still, and around them the sounds of the night were silent. All three pairs of eyes stared intently at the field, waiting, watching.

Bursting through the crops, and scaring the companions half to death, stumbling backward and down the hill onto the road, was Merry. His face white as a sheet and stumbling he stuttered something; he ignored all attempts to calm him down. Finally, the three follow suit and chased after the frightened Hobbit, finally getting him to speak.

"Riders, riders clad in black asking about Baggins'. I knew! Frodo I _knew! WHY?"_

Frodo stared back at his friend and then to Murron. "I can't explain it now Merry. You'll just have to trust me. Can you get us to Bree?"

Merry studied the faces of his friends and nodded, very unhappy like, and motioned for them to follow him. Like shadows they crept across the land and made their way to the Brandywine bridge…and from there, to the Prancing Pony Inn.

The Inn was crawling with the likes of drunkards and gamblers. Not the kind of place Murron took a liking too. The first time in years Murron saw other human beings and it was in the form of sin and rank smell. All about her laughs and shouts pounded against her ears making her want to scream. The very room was packed with pipe smoke and it burned her lungs painfully.

Sam grunted and tapped Murron shoulder.

"What is it?" She hissed under her breath.

Sam pointed over to a corner where a cloaked man sat smoking a pipe, legs propped up on an empty chair. Murron studied the man, studied his eyes as they lit up whenever he took in a lung full of tobacco. Those eyes studied them. Studied her. Studied Frodo.

"He has been watching us since we got 'ere. I don't like it very much. Let me tell you."

Frodo then called over the Inn Keeper and questioned him on the man. His face went pale.

"I don't know his right name. He be a ranger. 'Round 'ere he is known as _Strider."_

Murron turned around to stare none too politely at this Strider. What she didn't like most about him, was the fact that he was clad…in _all black._

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__**A/N: So what do you guys think Murron looks like? I've never put her description down. I don't think I will. I want you guys to have fun with that. SO let me know what you think! ;) **


	7. To be Wary of the Ranger

**A/N: New Chapter. Short I know. Please Forgive. Thank you to all who have faved/followed/reviewed. Means a lot. All I ask is that if you read please leave a little review. Something you wanna see done, suggestions, comments, anything. Know I'll return the favor. Thanks so much for the support so far. The chapters will keep coming, as long as the reviews keep flowing. Again thanks guys, ~Aranel**

* * *

Murron continued to stare at this Strider. He cloaked himself and sat in the shadows of the inn, bringing no attention to himself, and locked eyes with her. Determined to hold her gaze, she narrowed her eyes and cursed under her breath. Nothing seemed to be going well as of late. Gandalf hadn't been there as promised, and with the black riders and all…it was going to be a long sleepless night for her. She knew it. Murron gazed once more at the man in black.

The Inn Keeper had stated he was a Ranger. She remembered Gandalf speaking of the Rangers. They were wild, fierce men who called no place home and on occasion took up tasks in bounty hunting. To the girl this meant their loyalties were questionable. With dark talk, and horrid things at work behind the closed eyes of Middle Earth, this man could very well be a pawn of the Dark Lord of Mordor. She'd be damned if she let him get to Frodo. Murron gave her word to protect the Hobbit, and The Ring from whatever perils they may face; this Ranger was no exception.

Still, there was an air about him that did not seem so black. Self-kept, yes, dangerous, perhaps, but evil? Murron couldn't be sure. All she knew was the look the Inn Keeper gave when questioned about the man was unsettling.

The saving grace in the matter was that Frodo left behind the name Baggins due to Gandalf's request. It was the only key word the enemy had at the moment, and as long as Frodo stuck to Mr. Underhill, well, they should be fine. Turning away with first giving the man a rather nasty look, Murron looked over at Sam. "I wouldn't worry too much about him. Let him look. We don't have any business with him."

Sam rolled his eyes and took a long swig of ale. He weighed it in his mouth and titled his head to gaze over at the bar. Murron followed his eyes to Pippin, who sat atop a stool, conversing with some rather nasty looking men. Their voices were too low to be audible amongst the other noises. Clanking plate, drunken laughs, the chitchat that filled the small room, were only some of the racket that consumed the inn. It was when Pippin motioned over to his party and began laughing that Murron grew worried. She shared a look with Frodo whose blue eyes grew wide.

Pippin nearly fell out of his chair taking a long gulp of his beverage. "Baggins? Of course I know of Baggins! Frodo Baggins. He is my cousin, right over there! See him? Frodo! Oh Frodo!"

Merry banged his head against the table in disbelief that Pippin could be so thick. Sam turned his attention to the Strider fellow who sat up and paid closer attention to the events unfolding. Frodo then ran over to Pippin and shouted at him repeating over and over: 'I'm not a Baggins you fool!'

It all happened so fast. Murron couldn't recall where everyone was at the moment it happened, but the voices of panic and awe roared high above any sense of dread she was feeling.

One moment Frodo was walking over to Pip, the next he was gone. She was torn between running to the empty space her friend had once occupied, and stopping this Strider from getting up from his table. She chose the latter.

Rushing from her seat she stepped in front of the man who towered over her, only to be cast aside like a ragdoll. Regaining her composure, Murron fought her way through the growing crowd of onlookers and nearly gasped when Frodo reappeared in thin air, lying on the floor. Pushing people aside she tried her hardest to reach the Hobbit and get him to safety before the Ranger could, and was a millisecond too late.

She watched helplessly as Strider lifted the Halfling and carried him away up the stairs. Murron called out to Sam, who was already on his way up the steps, followed my Merry and Pippin with whatever they found lying around to use was weapons. Murron herself eventually made her way to the staircase, fighting off questions and jabs from the men of the inn.

Climbing the stairs skipping a step with every stride, courage and dread filled her lungs, and for a moment she wondered how she'd ever be able to fight off a grown man, a seasoned man, and come out victorious. Her mind went blank with rage.

She reached the door just as Sam kicked it open and Murron flew past the small Hobbits and yelled and hollered as she leapt onto the man's back, forcing a choke hold against his neck. He staggered, but didn't fall, and Murron felt like an idiot.

The plan not going as well as she thought, she bit down on his shoulder and felt a little better when he let out a cry. Swinging her about the room he finally—with little effort—threw her to the bed and looked down at her with rage and utter confusion. Raising a brow he nodded down at her.

"My Lady," He grunted, gingerly rubbing his shoulder. "I would advise you to save yourself the trouble."

Sam stepped forward. "Unhand him! Right now you or I'll…I'll…"

Frodo stared up at the Ranger. "Who are you?"

The man called Strider stepped over to the fire place and knelt down to poke at the flames, still rubbing his shoulder where Murron had chomped down on it. A look of utter disbelief that a woman threw herself on him and actually _bit_ him washed over his face before he replied. "A friend to Gandalf, and clearly an enemy of the Lady…the Inn Keeper told you they call me Strider, Yes?"

Merry lowered his chair leg long enough to add in his two cents. "Yes…he did. But who are you _Strider, Ranger of the North?"_

The man took a deep breath and his voice was genuine when he spoke to Frodo. "Frodo of the Shire, I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, friend to Gandalf the Grey, and of Elrond of Rivendell… If by life or death I can save you, I will. I know what hunts you, and I can protect you."

It seemed enough for Frodo to trust the man that the Wizard had spoken of while the others still seemed skeptic. Even Murron, who recalled the tale of the Ranger Aragorn, who tracked the creature Gollum, was wary of him. Though now she felt a tad bit embarrassed for assaulting him with her teeth.

"They are coming Frodo, you cannot wait for the Wizard."

The Hobbit looked to the Ranger, "Who is coming?"…

* * *

Murron did not sleep. She sat awake with Strider as the Halflings curled amongst each other in the cold damp barn. They looked like small lost children, barely able to withstand the forces of nature. It was then Murron had wished Merry and Pippin had been spared such a fate as to follow their friends here. Wouldn't it have been simpler for it to have been just Sam, Frodo and herself? Then again it would have been simpler if Gandalf had been here; he would have known what to do…what path to take.

It had rained that night, and the stench of horses was clinging to their cloaks. The girl pulled hers closer to his face and shut her eyes tightly. Late September was awfully cold this night, and her feet were well passed freezing; her limbs numb with weariness. Wrapping herself tighter and leaning against a beam, she let her mind wander to things best left alone. She let her thoughts drift to the cold dark places of the world and hopelessness drowned her.

Even hidden from the eyes of the Ranger her body radiated depression and her shivers were not just from the damp cold. Murron was crying. Her sobs racked her body, but she did well enough to keep them silent. It was a sensation of death and darkness when reflected upon. It was the very same sentiment that reared its ugly head when the Riders in Black appeared. Unlike her companions, Murron sensed that their little journey from the Shire to Bree was only the beginning…and the servants of the Dark One would follow them wherever they go. It was not a comforting thought.

Sniffling away the last of her tears she told herself she cannot cry, she couldn't weep. Remembering Gandalf helped her to carry on. He would be here, she told herself. He would want me to take heart and remain strong…

Thunder and lightning lit the sky and again Murron shivered, pulling her feet closer to her body. That was the one down side to living with Hobbits for so long: No shoes. She wrapped her cloak around them, removing her hood.

Once exposed more or less, the girl was faced with Strider and his eminent emotionless gaze. The only indication that he had any thought racing through his mind was the look in his eyes as he stared down at her feet. Murron had been so consumed in studying him; she jumped out of her skin when he spoke.

"You will catch a cold. Have you no boots?" He seemed to be whispering to the darkness.

Murron stared blankly into the blackness trying to decide whether he had actually said anything at all. Had he? She couldn't be sure. Well, she couldn't just say nothing…she decided to play it safe and make her response curt. "Hobbits don't wear shoes you know, living with them kinda hinders the variety of footwear available at my leisure."

When the man chuckled she felt warmth in her body. It was a good rich warmth that filled her lungs with hope. The laugh told her he was not of evil, and capable of good hearted humor and kindness. It renewed her hopelessness over the absence of Gandalf.

"Perhaps I have a spare," Strider began, when screeches filled the streets of Bree, and all four of the Halflings shot up in terrible frights. It was as if the atmosphere of the town turned deathly black, and the hearts of all stopped beating. The sounds of those creatures were not dank, were not frightening, and they were not heartbreaking. The sounds they uttered were of the utmost evil. Hearing such a sound drains the blood from the body and racks it will pain beyond imagine, and here was Murron and the Halflings in terror as Strider stared grimly toward the inn.

They all wished to ask the same question but all to terrified to speak. What were they? Where did they come from? Strider seemed to know what weighed on their minds.

"Nine rings for mortal men doomed to die, in the black lands of Mordor, where the shadows lie." The man looked to Frodo. "They do not draw breath, nor do they die. Servants of their wicked Dark Lord and pawns to his schemes…at all times they feel the ring; they smell it. Frodo, they will never stop hunting you."

Frodo turned to Sam, who turned to Murron, who looked over all of them. The nine from the stories, the wraiths of Sauron, and if what Strider said was true, they truly could not wait for Gandalf. The five of them would have to place their trust in this man of the North…this Aragorn. In the back of her mind Murron still did not wish to lay her life or Frodo's in this man's hands, and to her his grand title of being son of Arathorn meant nothing. (For Gandalf had told her many tales of the Kings of Gondor) To Murron he was Strider, Ranger of the North, nothing more. And she did not trust the Ranger.

"I will lead you to Rivendell, Frodo. There the Ring will be safe, but we must move quickly. His spies are everywhere." Strider pulled his pack from his side and shuffled through it, while telling them to pack and be ready in half an hour to leave. Murron tested his patience.

"If you turn on them, I'll kill you. I don't trust you Strider…your timing was too perfect…too planned."

The man looked up from his pack and threw a pair of boots at her. They were old and had small holes in the heel, and she took well to note they were about a size 12, far too large for her. Yet, shoes were shoes and a grand improvement from none at all. He was showing her kindness from her own spite, and it did little but fuel her temper.

"I will…don't think I won't!" She hissed in his direction, watching him hand access supplies to everyone. He didn't respond to her childish remarks until it was her turn to receive items for travel. Strider bent down and handed her a larger cloak, weather beaten and thin, a small short sword, and muddy wraps for her feet.

"My Lady, had my intentions been directed toward _turning_ on you, I would have done so already. On such a note as you killing me, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I've never rightly heard of a man dying from vicious bites at the lands of a young woman. Hurry now; put on the boots, we haven't much time."

Murron glared heatedly at Strider and could do nothing but stare with hatred as she tried to repair her broken ego. Pulling the boots on with a grim face she silently hoped the bite she gave him hurt to high hell and made the journey very uncomfortable for him.

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**A/N: I asked you guys what you think Murron looks like and was really interested in how you all portray her! Now, I won't be giving a detailed description of her in the story, but if you want to know what I think Murron looks like here P.M. me and I'll send you the Links.**


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